


The World All Before Them

by violet_strange



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ACD Canon References, Alpha Lestrade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Case Fic, First Time, Happy Ending, M/M, Omega John, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Story: The Adventure of the Copper Beeches, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_strange/pseuds/violet_strange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's use of omega suppressants is causing him serious health problems, so John suggests he turn to Lestrade for help. Lestrade wants to help Sherlock, but they are both afraid of what might happen.</p><p>Alpha Lestrade/Omega Sherlock. Mentions of Omega John/various.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Lestrade is in his early forties and Sherlock is around thirty. Now that I think about it, it's strange Lestrade should remain unbonded for so long. There must be a story there.

_The Bradleagh-Groves puzzle should have been simple for one who possessed the mental powers of Sherlock Holmes. However, the sacrifices he makes to pursue his career were almost his undoing. Any other omega would have immediately known there was something wrong with Antonia Bradleagh. She was short for an alpha, and the auburn hair that curled around her oval face hinted at a certain wildness. After Sherlock invited her in and offered her tea, he accurately deduced her career as a librarian and her love of Viennese operetta, but years of suppressants had damaged his senses so he was unable to recognise what should have been obvious. Miss Bradleagh carried with her the scent of death._

“If you're writing about the Bradleagh case, don't,” Sherlock said. He didn't look up from the cryptic he was treating as seriously as a crime scene.

John stopped typing and looked around for reflective surfaces. Sherlock had been known to show off with a carefully placed milk jug. “It's been in all the papers. People are curious about your version of events.”

“It won't be my version, it will be yours, sensationalistic and robbed of what interest it might have for students of criminology. There's also the matter of what you're choosing to disclose.” Suddenly, Sherlock was behind John. “ _Any other omega would have immediately known there was something wrong._ Why are you writing that?”

“It makes people feel better when they see you've given something up to achieve what you've achieved.”

“I haven't given anything up,” Sherlock said.

The way Sherlock stood, the anger in his eyes and the rigidity of his back, brought out John's instinct to smooth things over, to make them right. He felt like laughing at himself, an omega wanting to placate another omega. It wasn't the way the world worked.

“By publishing that story, you are revealing my weakness to my enemies,” Sherlock said.

“It's a weakness you are choosing. I've told you before, you need to give your body a rest from the suppressants. You could do what I do, six months on, six months off.”

“I have no desire to do what you do, whore myself out to strangers.”

John swallowed. He knew that if he continued the conversation, it would hurt their friendship. In the beginning, their mutual desire to live free of an alpha's control had cemented their friendship. It was a rare quality in an omega; most of them came out of the Schools blindly repeating propaganda about an omega's place and the joy of sacrifice.

During the first year they lived together, John had assumed Sherlock took care of his heats in the same way he did. Every few months, whenever he felt the slight, warning fever, he would make his way over to an unremarkable block of flats near Russell Square. Dark tapestries covered the walls, but the sheets on the heavy beds were bleached bright white, all evidence of sex erased. Not all alphas wanted the responsibility of bonding, but they still desired the exquisite sensation of sliding into the hot, eager body of an omega in heat. John would stretch out on the white sheets, wet and ready to be fucked, waiting for an alpha to find him. It was a glorious moment, the first orgasm of his heat, feeling his alpha come inside him. It was strange that Sherlock would deny himself this pleasure.

“Those alphas could be anyone. You don't even know their names,” Sherlock had said.

“That's the point,” John had replied. Sometimes he wondered what the School had been like for Sherlock. A place that existed to impress conformity and subservience would only foment rebellion in someone like Sherlock. John could understand refusing to bond, but there must be a reason to make him continually suppress his heats. It was unhealthy.

“If I don't write about the Bradleagh-Groves, how about the Saintsbury Coiner? Maybe the publisher can run your article about counterfeiting along with it.” John decided that in the future he would wait until Sherlock was out of the flat to write about the less successful cases.

“No. I promised Lestrade we wouldn't publish anything about the Saintsbury Coiner until after he makes Chief Inspector.”

“You weren't half as kind to Jones when it came to that bank robbery,” John said.

He had noticed how Sherlock's behaviour changed when he was around Inspector Lestrade. Most detectives were alphas, it was an unwritten requirement for entering CID, but Sherlock treated most of them with contempt or icy politeness. Some of them were offended, others took it in stride. Inspector Jones had once horrified Sherlock by saying that he liked an “omega with spirit”.

Around Lestrade, Sherlock became a little more tolerant. He still shouted insults, but sometimes he would look at Lestrade with a bewildered air, as if he were trying to respond to something unsaid. He wouldn't laugh when Lestrade made jokes, that was expecting too much, but he would acknowledge that Lestrade was making an attempt. It could also have been related to age. Now that Lestrade was in his forties, he was losing the boyish softness that looked wrong on an alpha. There was still kindness in his eyes, but the way he carried himself proclaimed his alpha status. Sometimes John thought bonding with an alpha like Greg Lestrade wouldn't be so bad, but no matter how attractive the alpha, he could never give up his freedom. Sometimes John watched Sherlock and Lestrade interact, and wondered if Sherlock felt the same.

“When Lestrade gets here, you can ask him if he minds you writing up the Saintsbury Coiner,” Sherlock said.

“I didn't hear the telephone. How do you know...”

Sherlock covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. “They found a body on Hampstead Heath. It was in the papers this morning. As it turns out, not a murder, but when they went round the houses on the side of the Heath, they found another body. It's a very expensive street, so they will want it sorted quickly. It is exactly the kind of case that could make Lestrade's career as long as...” Sherlock's voice trailed off and he looked like he was about to collapse. John guided him over to the sofa.

“Stop fussing, John. I need an aspirin and for you to stop looking at me like that.”

“How long have you been feeling like this?”

Sherlock knew from the look on John's face that he couldn't lie. “A month. Two months.”

John couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. His flatmate was a brilliant man, but had no common sense. There was no point in lecturing. “How many months?”

“Three months,” Sherlock said. “I've been getting headaches and I haven't been able to smell anything, not just omegas and alphas, anything for three months. I didn't tell you because I knew what you'd say.”

As a doctor and friend, John knew what to say. Sherlock needed to give his body a rest from the suppressants and let nature take over. “You knew what I would say?” John paused. “My dog has no nose,” he said.

“What dog? You don't have a dog.” Sherlock stared at John, confused.

“My dog has no nose,” John repeated.

“That's what you're doing? Fine. How does he smell?”

“Awful. Didn't expect that, did you?” John laughed, not at his own terrible joke, but at the indignation on Sherlock's face. His laughter was contagious, and Sherlock felt the pain fading a little. They were still laughing when Lestrade entered the room.

Lestrade was more dishevelled than usual. His grey hair was ruffled on one side as if he had been resting his head on his hand, and there were a few dark splashes on his trousers, the result of driving too fast with coffee in the cupholder.

Sherlock tried to assume a dignified air, which was difficult when lounging on the sofa. He still felt too weak for his usual trick of using his height to make Lestrade forget he was an omega. “You're getting slow, Lestrade,” he said.

“Are you okay?” Lestrade asked. He usually tried not to be overly solicitous because Sherlock saw his concern as alpha behaviour and resented it. However, Sherlock did not look well. He was paler than usual and his eyes had an unhealthy glitter.

“I'm fine,” Sherlock said.

“He's not fine,” John said. The two omegas glared at each other. Sherlock had no scent, but John was worry and fear.

Sherlock stood up. “I'm getting my coat. That will give the two of you the chance to talk about me behind my back.”

 

The air wasn't cold enough for heavy coats, but Sherlock kept his on as he stood in the garden that had its own gate onto the Heath. The scene around him dissolved as he reconstructed what the owner would have witnessed just before the sun rose. His watch chimed to remind him to take his afternoon pill, but he ignored it.

“I told John...” Lestrade started to say, but Sherlock interrupted him.

“We're not mixing work and personal,” he said.

“Do you need a glass of water?”

“I'm not taking it. Don't worry, your case will be solved before that causes any problems.”

Lestrade sighed. “We really need to talk.”

Sherlock tried to ignore Lestrade so he could focus on what was in front of him. Rust on the gate's hinges, a few broken branches. Only details were real.

 

John arranged to be away from Baker Street for five days. It would take around forty-eight hours for the suppressants to leave Sherlock's system, and then his heat would last anywhere from an hour to twelve hours. It would be impossible to predict what it would be like for someone who had been on suppressants for so long, but John trusted Greg to take care of Sherlock.

“I heard about your health problems. I would like to help you, but I can't.” Lestrade waited for Sherlock to respond, but he was silent. He had been quiet ever since leaving the Heath, none of the usual triumphant comments about how his methods solved the case.

“I'll find you someone who can help,” Lestrade continued. “Most DIs are in stable bonds, it's one of the things they look at when promoting, but there are a few of us unbonded alphas out there. There's Jones...”

“He has a _spirited_ omega,” Sherlock said.

“I mean his brother. He'd be respectful...he really does respect you.”

“Why not you? John thinks...” Deducing people who were familiar was difficult. Sherlock tried to see the alpha in front of him, not the one he expected. “You have feelings for me,” he stated.

“Yeah, I do.”

“John can smell it on you. _Everyone_ can smell it on you, except me. Of course.”

“I can't trust myself with you. If we're together, I'm going to want to bond. Even now when you don't smell like an omega, I still want to...” Lestrade stared at Sherlock bleakly.

“I can take care of myself. I'll lock myself in. If you could stop by tomorrow to check the lock, it would appreciated.” Sherlock glanced at the clock. “Almost six. If John's calculations are correct, I still have twenty-four hours left as myself.”

“It's not like that.”

“You wouldn't know.”

Sherlock clearly wanted him to leave. For the first time, Lestrade could not only read his body language, but he could also discern faint traces of his scent.

The next afternoon, the door opened easily at Lestrade's knock. “Sherlock, are you here? What happened to the lock?”

Sherlock was unpacking a box of sex toys, lining them up on the table. “I had to take a delivery,” he said. He smiled ironically and brandished an oversized purple dildo. “Do alphas think they look like this?”

“That's a speciality item. If you haven't been with anyone in a while, something more...realistic would work better.” Lestrade could see more realistic shapes in the box, but he was afraid to step closer to the table. Sherlock smelled delicious. He wasn't in heat, it was the natural smell he'd hidden for as long as they'd known each other.

“It hasn't been a while. It's been never.”

Lestrade couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“When I was at school, I used toys like this, then when I turned eighteen. I started on suppressants. How I hated it, the absurdity of pushing a piece of plastic into myself. I felt utterly ridiculous.”

“You're not supposed to think about it, just enjoy,” Lestrade said.

“I can't stop thinking.”

Lestrade had never thought about how Sherlock's brilliance could also be a curse. The pure physical pleasure other omegas enjoyed was not for Sherlock. He could barely stand touching the sex toys in the box.

“I'll help you this time. No bonding, I promise.”

Sherlock nodded. Lestrade could smell the fear and curiosity in him. “I should have another two or three hours before it starts.”

“We can watch the telly or play a game while we wait. I'm going to call into work, I'll be back in less than a minute.”

It took longer than a minute, calls to his office were always more complicated than necessary. By the time Lestrade returned to the flat, Sherlock had disappeared. He'd left a trail of scent behind him, one that led straight to the bedroom. Lestrade found Sherlock stretched out on the bed, completely naked. His beauty was only spoiled by the bored expression on his face. “Is there any way to hurry this up?” he asked.

“We don't have much control.” Lestrade studied Sherlock's naked body. Even though he wasn't in heat yet, his smell was enticing. Lestrade wanted to kneel between his legs and bite the tanned v where his collar was always open to sunlight. He wanted to take Sherlock's lovely omega cock in his hand and play with it until Sherlock moaned.

“I'm going to get some towels,” Lestrade said.

Sherlock sat up and watched Lestrade undress. “When did you switch from running to swimming?”

“Don't deduce me while I'm naked.” He sat down beside Sherlock, whose scent was more intoxicating up close.

“It's something everyone else knew before me. They could smell the chlorine.” Sherlock moved closer to Lestrade and sniffed experimentally. A startled look crossed his face. He fell back on the bed as his lost sense returned to him all at once. Everything: the bed's cotton sheets, the soap they were washed in, the dust on his books and dust ground into his rug, food cooking in the cafe, petrol from the cars outside, mould growing in the corners and under the floors, paper, cloth, metal, dirt. He could smell himself on his sheets. He felt like choking, but Lestrade was there, stronger than everything else. His thoughts raced, taking in all of the new information, but he could feel himself getting wet as his body responded to the alpha next to him.

Lestrade moved closer. He brushed the curls away from Sherlock's forehead and kissed him tenderly. “Are you ready?”

He was afraid to move too quickly. Sherlock's scent had changed, his skin was flushed, and he was trembling. Lestrade stroked Sherlock's thigh, moving his hand closer to Sherlock's cock, but stopping before he touched it. He watched Sherlock's face change and waited for him to relax. “Roll over, baby. On your hands and knees.”

Sherlock moaned something incoherent and stayed where he was. Lestrade realised he needed to use his alpha voice. “Get your arse in the air,” he commanded. Sherlock opened his eyes and glared at him, but Lestrade saw his omega cock stiffen as he obeyed.

Lestrade nudged his legs apart with his own, then slid his fingers into Sherlock to make sure he was ready. It was amazing how hot and wet he was, but he still hadn't relaxed. Instead of opening himself to Lestrade, he was still tight around the penetrating fingers. The still rational part of Lestrade worried that he would hurt Sherlock, but the rest of him wanted nothing more than to plunge into that exhilarating warmth.

“Going to fuck you now,” Lestrade said. He wanted to say something else, something comforting. He wanted to tell Sherlock that he loved him and would take care of him, but his desperate need drove the words out of his mind. Sherlock cried out as Lestrade thrust into him. It was a sound of both joy and pain.

Earlier, while circling items in the _For Their Pleasure_ catalogue, Sherlock had known he would never use any of their toys on himself. He didn't know how he could ask Lestrade to reconsider without offering the possibility of bonding, but he knew Lestrade would have to be the one to take him through his heat. He'd always known it would be Lestrade.

Sherlock moaned and sobbed as Lestrade's cock filled him and divided him. Even in the midst of his heat, as the nerves in his body responded to Lestrade's power and scent, his mind couldn't stop, warning him to move his neck away when Lestrade grazed it with his teeth, reminding him to roll his hips back to take Lestrade deeper. The fire in the middle of his body, in the centre of his world, had met its counterpart in Lestrade, but the part of him that observed and calculated could not stop. He didn't want it to stop, he was afraid of losing himself. But Lestrade was pushing into him, harder and faster, finally coming inside him, filling him with his seed. The sensation of being filled so completely sent Sherlock over the edge and he cried out for his lover as he came.

Sherlock whimpered as Lestrade's knot swelled inside him. He felt dizzy. The white-hot fire of his first orgasm had passed, but smaller waves of pleasure radiated through him from where he and Lestrade were connected. They were lying on their sides now, Sherlock's head resting on Lestrade's arm.

“When I first met you, I thought you were an alpha. The way you ordered around the scene of crime officers, such nerve. That's the problem with alpha detectives. We get territorial about our crime scenes.” The normality of Lestrade's words and the warmth of his breath against his neck comforted Sherlock.

“I thought, this is how it starts. You hear about alpha-alpha couples, fighting all the time, making the people around them crazy. Then you came closer and I thought, not an alpha. I didn't know what you were.”

“We can still fight all the time,” Sherlock said. “It's not as if becoming my lover will magically make you a better detective.” He moaned as Lestrade grabbed his hip and pushed a little deeper, a dominant move.

“Wait...is lover the word we're using?” Lestrade moved again and was delighted by Sherlock's gasp.

Sherlock settled back against Lestrade. “For now. We can sort out the rest later, together.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is complete for now. I'm not sure I want to continue working on this, but if I do, I will put any new chapters in a new story. Thanks for reading this--I hope you like it.

Sherlock's half-closed eyes and the casual way he draped himself over his chair sometimes misled the unwary, but he had been listening and studying their young client carefully.

“Your story fascinates me, Miss Hunter. It's unusual for a businessman to be so lax about his own schedule, yet so particular about the schedule of his dog. Did your employer always accompany you on these walks?" Sherlock asked.

The young omega's neatly bobbed chestnut hair glowed in the dimly lit flat. “I didn't mind. Mr Rucastle is a very amusing man, terrible jokes, so terrible they became funny. He had one about a talking dog...but never mind about that. He did always accompany me on the walks, and unless the day was unusually fine, he would insist I wear this coat.” Violet Hunter stood up so Sherlock and John could see what she was wearing, a light blue faille trench coat, not in any way remarkable.

The solution seemed obvious to John. “Are you absolutely sure Mr Rucastle is a beta? If his wife is an omega, how can they have a child?”

“This is her second marriage,” Miss Hunter said.

“Unless the Rucastles have access to advanced pharmaceuticals, it is impossible for an alpha to masquerade as a beta. He can cover his natural scent, but any omega would be able to discern his type.”

John wanted to point out that until a week ago, Sherlock would not have been able to tell the difference between an alpha wearing scent modifiers and a beta. Now that his sense of smell had returned, he would ostentatiously remark upon the emotions of his clients, informing John about how they were fearful or when they were lying. John wondered if Lestrade had helped Sherlock through his heat, or if he had gone through it alone, but he didn't want to ask. Sherlock hadn't mentioned Lestrade at all since John's return.

“If you will allow us, we will accompany you to Winchester to observe this little ritual,” Sherlock said. He phrased it as a request, but John could tell Sherlock was intrigued by the young tutor's story.

Miss Hunter thanked them profusely before leaving the flat; her chestnut hair and light blue coat were radiant with gratitude.

Later that afternoon, Sherlock and John observed the evening ritual Miss Hunter had described. Just as the sun began to sink behind the row of flowering limes, Miss Hunter and Mr Rucastle appeared, laughing as they strolled, a fluffy spaniel parading ahead of them on a leash.

“What a charming picture.” Sherlock's mouth was a straight line. “Look over there.”

Sherlock and John were not the only watchers. Just beyond a cluster of Japanese maples, a young alpha stood, his grief and distress obvious even at such a distance.

“The coat, the hair, something in her food to alter her scent, the young man sees what he want to see.”

“Who is he?” The young alpha's misery disturbed park's serene atmosphere.

“I will find out. It is, after all, my business,” Sherlock said.

The next day, Sherlock sent John to watch Miss Hunter and report back if there was anything unusual. Miss Hunter and her employer walked around the perimeter of the estate, laughing together as the dog tugged at his leash. John admired her nerve, the way she never displayed her awareness of the observers. On the third day, the young alpha who had been watching was not in his usual position.

“We won't see him again,” Sherlock said.

As he spoke, Mrs Rucastle came running through the front door, screaming for her husband. Except for a bold streak of grey, her hair was the same brilliant chestnut as Miss Hunter's. Mr Rucastle and Miss Hunter stopped, the dog taking advantage of the distraction, pulled away and started running in the opposite direction.

“Time to join in the fun,” Sherlock said.

“He's taken her,” Mrs Rucastle was screaming. "I know it's him!"

“They can't have gone far. I assume the coat Miss Hunter is wearing has been soaked in your missing daughter's pheromones. The dog should be able to find her,” Sherlock called out to the stunned Rucastles.

“All this, the house, the money to maintain it, it was all left in trust for your daughter, to be delivered to her upon the day she bonds with an alpha. Unhappy with what you felt would be an inadequate allowance, you took her from her School and hid her away from the world and the young alpha she'd already chosen as a partner. So you hired Miss Hunter to play the part of a happy daughter and literally throw the young man off her scent.” As Sherlock spoke, the spaniel guided them to a cottage outside the gates of the estate. It looked abandoned, but the upper windows glowed brightly.

Sherlock opened the door, and it was obvious to the sensitive omegas what had been happening. “They've already bonded,” Sherlock said.

Mr Rucastle slammed the door shut, while his wife buried her face in her hands. “What will we do?” she sobbed.

“I would suggest you pack up your belongings and find new a new place to live. Perhaps later you can beg your daughter's forgiveness.”

“If only I had known," Miss Hunter sighed. “I wouldn't have...do you think they can be happy now?”

“I'm sorry, this means you have to look for work again.” John said. He knew it was difficult for omegas to find steady employment. “My sister's wife runs a School...”

“I would never...”

“No, it's not like the ones we went to, she's trying to do something different. She prefers to hire omegas, she says it helps when instruction comes from someone who has gone through the same experiences.”

“Thank you," she said. She looked at Sherlock with concern. "Are you all right?”

Sherlock looked very pale. “I need fresh air,” he said.

“Oh, dear. The scent from their bonding has started your heat early, hasn't it?" Miss Hunter turned to John. “The pub where you've been staying isn't really suitable. The rooms are above the bar and not sealed tightly at all. It can cause problems. There's a small hotel about a mile past the main road with rooms that are very private. Why don't you take him there and wait with him until his alpha comes.”

John was impressed by her brisk manner. She would be the perfect teacher for his sister-in-law's school.

In despair over the failure of their bold scheme, the Rucastles allowed Miss Hunter to use one of their cars to drive Sherlock and John to the hotel.

“No hard feelings, eh?” Mr Rucastle said.

Sherlock ignored him and climbed into the back of the bright yellow Citroën that now rightfully belonged to the Rucastle's daughter. He was silent as they made their way to the hotel, and when they arrived, he immediately ran up the stairs to find a room, leaving the details of reserving it to John and Miss Hunter.

“He will be all right, won't he? I suppose his sensitivity is what helped him to become such a great detective.” Miss Hunter gave the room key to John.

John wanted to laugh at the word _sensitivity_ , but explaining Sherlock was too large a task for now. He watched Miss Hunter drive away, the yellow car recklessly speeding across the main road.

Sherlock had found the correct room, but he had been too distracted to attempt his usual trick of picking the lock. John wasn't sure, but it seemed like Sherlock should have another thirty or forty minutes before his heat would become unbearable.

“I called Greg. Was that right?”

Sherlock nodded. “Thank you.” He spoke quietly, as if frightened of losing his self-control. “Lestrade came over while you were away and helped me. It wasn't like I thought it would be, and now I want him to...” Sherlock touched the spot on his neck where he imagined his lover's teeth penetrating his skin, marking it forever.

“You want him to...you always said...”

“That was before I fell in love with him. It's a sentimental word designed to hide the ugly biological reality, but even if love is fiction, the chemicals causing the illusion are real, so this is something I want to do.”

“You should tell him that, not me.”

“I don't know how.” The air around Sherlock felt oppressively hot. “Humans are weak, omegas weaker than most,” he said.

“I don't think we're weak,” John said.

They could both sense Lestrade's arrival, the air shifted outside the room. Impulsively, John leaned over and kissed Sherlock's slightly feverish forehead. “He's never been able to say no to you,” he said. “Enjoy your honeymoon.”

As John walked down to the hotel bar, he tried not think about the sadness and confusion on Sherlock's face. _I don't know how_ , he'd said. _Ugly biological reality._

Sherlock's doubts faded as Lestrade's presence filled the room. He sank to his knees and rested his cheek against Lestrade's thigh, relaxing when he felt Lestrade's hand stroking his hair. “I want to be yours,” he said. Explanations didn't matter. “Only yours.”

It was such a relief, letting his alpha undress him, feeling his lips on every bit of skin as it was revealed. “So beautiful,” he heard Lestrade say. He buried his face in his pillow, raised his arse higher and spread his legs wider, moaning as Lestrade's thick fingers pressed inside him. Sherlock wondered why he was being so careful, too many years spent with betas, perhaps. He tried to stop thinking, to allow himself be carried away by the physical sensations, but mixed with his lust was a terrible jealousy. All those years Lestrade had spent fucking other people.

“What are you waiting for,” he snapped.

Lestrade removed his fingers, then rolled Sherlock over so they could see each other clearly. Sherlock reached out his hand and stroked Lestrade's cock. It was torture, he was ready to be filled, but Lestrade wasn't moving.

“We need to talk,” Lestrade said.

“Not that again,” Sherlock growled. He grabbed at Lestrade's hips, trying to move him forward, but Lestrade caught his wrists and pinned them to the bed, using his weight to keep Sherlock still. Sherlock kicked at him, determined to win this struggle. He forced Lestrade on to his back and climbed on top of him.

Sherlock felt dizzy with triumphant lust as he sank on to his alpha's cock. It swelled inside him, stretching him pleasurably. It felt like electricity was sparking through his veins, he rocked his hips back and forth, enjoying both the pleasure coursing through his own body and the look of complete happiness on Lestrade's face. An image flashed through his mind, Lestrade bent over, Sherlock fucking him with with his omega cock, no longer useless, dominating his alpha—he knew he was shouting nonsense as he came. Lestrade was there to catch him, to bring him down from his indescribable high.

“I'm sorry, what I was saying...” He whimpered a little as Lestrade's knot swelled, holding him in place.

“Sherlock, I said we needed to talk. That counts as talking.” Lestrade sighed, his warm breath tickling Sherlock's ear. “We don't have to be like other couples. If we're together, we can try anything we want.”

It felt so good, Lestrade inside him, surrounded by his scent, knowing that his scent covered Lestrade's skin, marking him as taken. “I'll always want this.” He tried to remember what John had said. “What's a honeymoon?”

“A time like this. Two people alone in a hotel room, making love for hours. They used to call it a honeymoon in the old days, back when there were only men and women.”

When Sherlock was younger, he used to wonder if he had been born in the wrong time. Maybe he would have been able to truly be himself in an age less obsessed with forcing everyone to conform to their predetermined roles. Now, with someone who loved him and was willing to try anything, he couldn't imagine any time could be happier than this.


End file.
